


Sweet Tooth

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [4]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Play, Condoms, Dry Orgasm, Enthusiastic Consent, First Dates, Light BDSM, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 14:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14107704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: James dresses for work on Friday in his absolute best clothes......It doesn't look effortless by any means. It looks like he's spent hours on it - which isn't actually bad for two minutes – but that's what hewants. He wants to look his best, he wants to be the jaw-dropping, show-stopping belle of the ball, so that Steve's whole demeanor changes when he sets eyes on James.





	Sweet Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> Steve and James are venturing into slightly harder territory and, hopefully, I've written this so that there's no confusion about consent. If you're worried by the tags, though, let me assure you that, although James' body is going to do some funny things to him in this part of the fic, James is fully consenting at all times - Steve sets up a system to ensure it.

James dresses for work on Friday in his absolute best clothes. 

He wears his charcoal three piece – the one with the really deep-cut double-breasted waistcoat – and he packs a new – yes he buys it new – crisp, white shirt in his leather knapsack, along with a red silk handkerchief. He wears his light grey shirt during the day, with a black tie, keeps his waistcoat on a hanger on one of the coat stands, and he absolutely spends all day waiting for five p.m.

When he reaches five p.m., he waits an extra few minutes to make sure he's not leaving early (he knows he's not but he's sill paranoid about it anyway) and then a message pops up on his computer screen after he closes his programs down, just before he goes to shut down.

_When you are ready, proceed to Stairwell 'B' and go up one floor. The temporary code for the door will be your birthday followed by your age. Board the Avengers elevator._

James bites his lip, smiles, and then shuts down, grabs the waistcoat and runs to the men's room. 

When he's there, he changes out of his grey shirt and into the white, applying more deodorant before he does, then a _smiiiidge_ of cologne, plus a little mascara and smallest, smallest dab of the pink-tinted chapstick he has. He takes his hair down to redo it, putting it into a bun, but he separates a section of hair at the front and flips it over, like the old swoops. It hangs down in an arc that almost brushes his jaw, and he teases a little of it out over his forehead.

It doesn't look effortless by any means. It looks like he's spent hours on it - which isn't actually bad for two minutes – but that's what he _wants_. He wants to look his best, he wants to be the jaw-dropping, show-stopping belle of the ball, so that Steve's whole demeanor changes when he sets eyes on James.

James is dressing to impress and he knows he's good at it.

He checks for smudges on his face, brushes his teeth, and folds the red silk handkerchief to put it into his breast pocket, straight – a flash of color against the monochrome. Then he packs up and heads for Stairwell 'B.'

It says “AUTHORIZED ONLY” but lets him through and then, up one floor, he types in 03110521 and the door swings open. Unlike the next floor down, where the mass of Friday foot-traffic has led to lines at the elevator banks like it always does, this floor is virtually empty. The one or two people on it are just getting into a different elevator when he comes through the door, and he makes sure the stairwell door has closed behind him before he moves forward.

Without any prompting, the elevator closest to him opens up, empty, and he steps inside and tries not to fidget.

 _“Good evening,”_ Jarvis' voice says, and James bites his lip as he smiles, shifting from foot to foot.

“Hi, Jarvis,” James says, and apparently that's all it takes.

 _“Express to Commander Rogers' floor,”_ Jarvis says, and the elevator begins to move and takes no time at all in doing so.

In a matter of seconds, he's faced with actually being where he's been waiting to be all week, and suddenly Steve's door is very close and what he's doing is very overwhelming.

They've called each other every night this week. Mostly they've just talked, but James ranted on Wednesday about his stupid code and how he knew there had to be something in there somewhere, and how he was having to spend every second of every day combing through ridiculous amounts of stuff that he'd already written – like, nobody even gets how hard it is unless they're doing it, you know? Like you spend so long on something and it's still not right and you've spent so long looking at it and perfecting it and putting in every single piece and working it all out just so you can put it together and now something's _wrong_ but you can't take a step back and see what it is 'cause you don't see the whole any more, all you see is every little piece and _God_ can't it just be finished and perfect so you don't have to _look at it any more_!?

There'd been perhaps a three second silence and then Steve, soft and gentle and soothing in a way only Steve could be, had said,

_“I paint, so I know a little of what that's like.”_

And James sighed at him.

“Why can't I see what's wrong?”

_“Same reason I can't get the right shade for Captain America's eyes or the Black Widow's hair. You're too close, you care too much, and you want it to be perfect because this is what you love. But I promise, if you persist, and do as well as you can, you'll find it and move past it and this'll all be a boring memory when you're done.”_

And then Steve had let him complain about the coding for a bit longer. 

Over the course of the week, they'd talked about food (no allergies) and music (completely different tastes) and what they liked about art and media and....

The conversation had turned to sex eventually, because it was on both their minds so much, and James had bitten his lip one evening and tried to ignore the fact that he was lying in bed with such a gorgeous voice in his ear saying so many dirty things like they were nothing more than everyday grocery items.

But, it turns out, he pretty much wants to try everything. He wants to be wined and dined, he wants to be manhandled and held down, he wants to be tied up and blindfolded, he wants to have a backrub that becomes something more-

He's got a lot of fantasies. He's had a lot of fantasies for years. Actually – he has the obligatory 'nursing a hot, injured man back to health' and 'hot alien abduction' shit from watching the original series of Star Trek when he was like five, and had no idea how to identify all the squirmy feelings in his gut when a young Bill Shatner took his shirt off periodically. He's picked up the 'blindfolded and forced to comply (but there are only nice things to comply with)' and the 'hot masseuse doesn't usually do this but will make an exception for you' ones from the softcore porn he used to look up when he was way too young, when people talked about it in high school but nobody had any more idea how to go about getting it than to google 'boobs.' Or butts, in James' case. And also Topless Dudes because James likes a bit of muscle.

He's even got the ridiculously embarrassing ones that he picked up from liking actors and having heroes. Tripping on the street and finding that it was Nikolaj Coster-Waldau helping him up, or- or Sigourney Weaver! Yeah.

He had a whole host.

The most constant of these, mortifyingly, was Steve Rogers. He used to imagine how he would have reacted if he'd been sharing barracks and showers with the scrawny firebrand who'd got himself noticed by the SSR, used to imagine himself on the SSR team who'd administered the serum and what he might have done had the newly-minted First Avenger stumbled into _his_ arms. James was only six years old when Steve was defrosted, and he was excited enough about it that he had themed birthday parties (his name is James, of _course_ he had themed birthday parties), but by the time he'd made it to puberty, his go-to sleeping-pill was the thought of a strong pair of hands dusting him off in the middle of another New York crisis just so that James could thank him _personally_ later. 

And then he came to work for Stark Industries and the number of accidentally-meeting-various-Avengers-and-sleeping-with-them scenarios – maybe two at once, maybe all of them!! - shot through the roof. Different combinations, different scenarios but always, always kindhearted, strong-willed Steve Rogers at the center of every fantasy.

James doesn't imagine he's getting fucked by someone when he uses his toys, but he does imagine someone else is using his toys _on_ him. And that's another fantasy he's got, too – James is _twenty-one_. A good portion of his time is spent thinking of sex. 

They've talked about some of it – a lot of It – but James is still a little shy about some of this stuff.

 _“You know what somebody said to me once?”_ Steve asked him one evening. _“One of many pieces of dumb advice – if you can't ask for it, you're not ready to have it. Isn't that dumb? If you're too shy to say what you want at top volume, you don't deserve to have anybody work with you to get what you want, how about that? Well that's bullshit. If you want something and you can't tell me then we'll work it out. Or you could find it online and show me, that might work.”_

James wants to try _everything_.

He just doesn't know where to start.

When the elevator doors open, he checks himself in the mirrored walls of the elevator before he leaves, and says “thank you” as the doors close, even though Jarvis is everywhere. He moves forward as he takes a deep breath, walks towards Steve's door and raises his hand to knock, and his knuckles are just about to make contact when the door swings inward and...

“Wow,” he says.

Steve's wearing either suit pants or slacks but they're black and it's hard to tell. His shirt is a blue so navy it's almost black, too, but it's open four buttons down, and the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, the cuffs turned up, and they're white. The shirts also happens to be the tightest shirt James has ever seen – there's no mistaking the cut of his pectorals or the breadth of his biceps, and his outfit is cut across the middle with a white belt threaded through his belt loops and cinched at the front with a plain rounded rectangle of brushed steel. He's evidently let his hair grow a little this week, too – it plays over his forehead with the kind of lightness that makes James' fingers itch to touch.

“You took the words out of my mouth,” Steve says, and James is expecting to be let inside, is expecting to start up flirting.

Instead, Steve slides feather-light fingers up James' throat to cradle the side of his skull, with his palm under his ear and his thumb stroking the shell. He smiles, soft and indulgent, and then leans down, tilting James' head as he does simply by using a touch James leans into, and kisses him. His mouth is barely open but it's warm, and his lips are dry and soft, and James' eyes flutter closed. 

It's a greeting, just deep enough to be past chaste, and Steve kisses him for a long few moments, draws back and changes his angle to come back again. They kiss and kiss, and Steve's other hand settles at the small of James' back, draws him just a little closer. When the kiss breaks, it's Steve who breaks it, and he pulls away slowly. When James' eyes open belatedly, Steve is staring at him through half-closed eyes, smiling as though James is something out of a dream.

“I was starting to think you were having second thoughts,” he says, his voice a rumble in James' chest.

“Hadda get changed,” he answers, clears his throat when his voice sticks a little.

“Hmm, lucky me,” Steve says, without a hint of irony, and he strokes James' ear with his thumb a little more.

It makes James shiver, and Steve stares at him for a few moments longer before he draws his hand away just as slowly as he placed it, brushing the pad of his thumb over James' lower lip as he does, fingers trailing along his jaw before they're gone.

“I hope you're hungry.”

James...

Had forgotten that eating was a thing that humans did, and he could go for food, but he's going to have to work at making _food_ the thing that he's currently thinking about. Steve steps backward and holds out a hand so that James can pass him, and the weight of James' knapsack disappears as he walks inside.

He lets Steve take it without protest, and he gets goosebumps when he hears the door close behind them.

Steve is against him a moment later – a wall of firm, dry heat at his back, his palms like brands when they slide around James' waist to settle against his stomach, bringing him tightly against Steve even as they hold him steady. James can't help reaching up and sinking one hand into Steve's hair when Steve's mouth presses against the side of his neck, closing his eyes as he tilts his head away to let Steve closer, and his mouth falls open on a moan when Steve's lips track a path from his shoulder to his ear.

“I missed you,” Steve murmurs, nosing into the soft, wispy hairs behind James' ear, and James smiles into the next groan he gives, his other hand on one of Steve's wrist, as much for contact and support as encouragement. 

Steve rolls his hips forward unabashedly, and James begins to wonder how much friction he can get from the inside of his own underwear. His nipples are hard against the inside of his shirt and, as though he's somehow in James' head, the hand James doesn't have a hold on sweeps up and catches them both in turn, the warmth soaking through the cotton and into James' skin.

By the time James turns his head back toward Steve and opens his eyes, they're both a little out of breath, and James feels very warm, but Steve has tilted his head enough to look at him.

“Think you're ready for dinner?” he asks, like he wasn't just steering James in a straight line from nought to sixty three seconds ago.

James pants for a second or two, lifts his chin, and Steve obliges, kisses him softly.

When they part, James does his best not to appear as weak in the knees as he feels, but Steve keeps hold of one hand and turns him so they're face to face.

He slings his arms about James' waist and settles his huge, warm hands at the base of James' spine again like he doesn't want to let go of him for more than a couple of seconds at a time. Then he kisses him again, soft and sweet, and lets go.

“Can I go back outside and come back in again?” James asks, and Steve laughs delightedly.

“I have a better idea,” he says. “Have dinner now and we'll try it again on the way into the bedroom, how about that?”

James bites his lip, and doesn't moan but it's close.

“Depends what dinner is,” he says, by way of some kind of snarky response.

Steve just looks at him and raises an eyebrow.

“Beef Wellington,” he says.

James stops mid-step and looks at him.

“Beef Wellington?” he says. “For a first date? That's a little ambitious.”

Steve just smiles.

“You don't know how many times I've practised,” he says. “Try asking the rest of the Avengers if they'd like another beef Wellington night.”

James blinks at him.

“Are you serious?” he says, and Steve rolls one shoulder as he walks to the oven.

“Sort of,” he answers. “When I first started talking to therapists, one of my friends who _works as_ a therapist told me that cooking was a good idea to try as a distraction. It's not as aesthetically driven as drawing or painting, and you always end up with something. In the rare event that you screw something up beyond belief, it's only one meal and you learn for next time, but mostly it can either be covered with tomato sauce or icing, depending on what you've made.”

“And you learned to make beef Wellington?” James asks.

Steve looks back at him, eyes sparkling.

“Eventually,” he says.

James laughs a little, and Steve nods toward the table. Today, the table is lit by a warm colored table lamp between the two places set, with a vase and some flowers beside it. 

James realizes at that point that, while the table they ate breakfast at fit all the food on it, sitting at the end places opposite each other is as good as any two-person table in a restaurant.

“It's well-done,” Steve says, opening the oven with his mitts already on, pulling the dish out to put it on the counter. “I remember you said you like red meat well-done when we were talking about it on Tuesday.”

James vaguely remembers that conversation. 

“But we're not having anything to drink,” he continues, extracting what looks like home-made thick-cut fries out of the oven next. “I want us both compos mentis later.”

James doesn't even need to guess why. At least he _hopes_ he doesn't have to guess why.

Steve turns to look at him a moment later as though he hasn't said anything out of the ordinary at all, and James is just staring at him with his mouth open.

“This isn't going to be like a typical first date, is it?” he says, probably a little desperately. “I'm not, I mean, you're gonna...”

He's spent every evening talking to Steve and every night desperately pulling himself off with the memory of Steve's voice ringing in his ears and the promise of the next weekend serving as the light at the end of his code-picking tunnel of a week.

He swallows hard.

“You're gonna fuck me, right?” he says and Steve, who's just sitting down at the table by this point, kind of pauses halfway into his seat and looks at James in something resembling mild surprise.

“If that's what you want,” he says, and James nods minutely, trying not to look to relieved about it. “We'll definitely talk about it after dinner, but the answer's yes if that's what you want, so don't fret about that.”

Steve dishes up – there are vegetables and the aforementioned fries that are closer to wedges, and then he hands the knife to James.

“Are you kidding me?” James says.

Steve just smiles a little – he has a habit of doing it when he looks at James, smiling almost entirely with his eyes with just a tilt to the corners of his lip. - and sets his elbows either side of his plate, clasping his hands in front of his mouth.

There's something intoxicating about the way he looks up at James, too – he could lift his head and look straight at him, but he watches James from under his lashes instead – and James hesitantly, very, very carefully, cuts maybe a quarter of what's there. 

“Is that enough?” 

“Oh please,” Steve murmurs into his knuckles, “serve yourself first.”

James does (it looks amazing) but Steve is frowning at the plate.

“You left a bit of pâté,” he says. “I'll get it if you don't.”

James gasps theatrically and snags the little lump of it to put it on his own plate.

“Rescued!” he says. “Do you want the same or am I just handing you the whole dish?”

Steve laughs suddenly enough that it sounds like it was a surprise to him, and he leans back as he drops his hands, his smile broad and bright.

James remembers reading newspaper articles, years ago, remembers seeing some overpaid TV psychobabbler wax lyrical about how everybody ought to have blah blah because Rogers never answered questions and Rogers never smiled and Rogers never took anyone to events and-

Except it was true. James had seen it because he'd started looking for it. Right up until he got the help he needed and, understandably, for a good while after, Steve hadn't ever smiled the big, wide smile that used to play on reels in the Smithsonian, that bright, happy thing he gives freely in interviews and on children's shows now. He had such a beautiful smile, like sunlight to slice through shadow, but he hadn't started to wear it in this century before maybe five, six years ago.

“I'll take the same as you,” he says, “and you can see how you feel about seconds later.”

James cuts him the same amount, and sits back down.

He eats his first mouthful without thinking and it's as he's looking at Steve to put across his admiration – because this thing isn't just good, it's _incredible_ \- that he notices Steve putting his hands back down on the table. 

_Oh shit_ -

“Oh, God, I'm sorry, I completely forgot you say grace!” he says, but Steve shakes his head, waves him off.

“Don't worry about it,” he says, and it almost looks like he's...embarrassed?

“Hey,” James says, and Steve looks at him, his expression open.

“Mmm?” he asks, settling his napkin on his lap.

James has tucked his into his collar and he's aware he probably looks like a five year old but, come on, this is a new shirt.

“You know that whole thing you said to me about if I wanted a sugar daddy and knowing your own wants and desires and that stuff?”

“Mmm?” Steve says again, frowning a little.

“Well you meant it like you're not gonna judge me, right?” 

“I did,” Steve says.

“Well I'm not gonna judge you either,” James says, and Steve's eyebrows go up as he leans back. “So if you want to say grace, y'know. It's your house.”

“I don't want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I can say it in Latin if you want,” James answers, and Steve huffs a laugh.

“ _Benedic, Domine, nos et haec tua dona_ ” he begins.

“ _Quae de tua largitate sumus sumpturi..._ ” James continues, but he trails off when Steve's expression changes completely.

His smile drops away, his shoulders fall and his head tilts in a way that suggests he's feeling something unpleasant on the back of his neck but, most of all, he blanches visibly save for a patch of feverish color high on his cheekbones.

That - _that_ \- expression is the one the media ran wild with way back when, and James feels like somebody's reached into his chest and closed a fist about his heart, wishes he could take the words he's spoken and eat them, walk out backwards and start over.

“I-I'm sorry,” he says, panicking, and Steve snaps out of it pretty much immediately, turns his head away.

“No,” he croaks, clears his throat. “ _I'm_ sorry – and it's not you.”

There's silence for a long few seconds while Steve doesn't look at him, and then he rubs his forehead with his fingertips and sits back up, schooling his expression as he draws a deep breath.

“Would you believe that's the first time I've heard that out loud this century?” he says, and then he smiles that sad little thing James saw when Steve thought he hadn't called out of disinterest. “I had a friend – you remind me of him – used to say it with me...”

His gaze slides sideways and James has heard of thousand-yard-stares, but he's never seen one. There's silence for five seconds, and then Steve snaps out of it again and looks at him.

“Right, well, that's something to tell my therapist,” he says. “I apologize.”

“You don't have to apologize,” James tells him, but Steve shakes his head.

“Well I'm sorry regardless. Maybe we should start over – I believe you were rescuing pâté?”

“Nope,” James answers. “I was telling you how amazing this is. What's the pastry made out of?”

Steve smiles a little more strongly this time.

“It's traditional beef Wellington,” he says, “so the only change I made to the recipe is the type of pâté.”

“Oh yeah?” James asks, but he takes another bite because he can't help himself. The meat is rich and tender and flavorsome and the pate is smoky and deep and the mushrooms- and the pastry- “Ohmygod this is so _good_.”

Steve takes a bite himself and seems pleased enough.

“Yeah, it's...the beef, and then you're meant to have it wrapped in pâté de fois gras or mushrooms but I've always used duck since they outlawed fois gras, and I did mushrooms as well because I warned you I'd spoil you.”

James blushes. 

“And then you wrap the coated beef in pancakes, to soak it all up, and then there's a version that has the pastry as well, so I did that for the same reason.”

“Well it's amazing,” James says and, by the time Steve's finished explaining the ingredients, he's pretty much back to normal.

They talk a little over dinner – James still hasn't found the bug in his code, and his apartment's got thinner walls than he'd like, and the prices in Brooklyn may have settled some since the skyrocketing prices of James' childhood but they're still not all that easy on the wallet.

Steve talks a little about painting, and about cooking, and about the books he likes, and of course, they flirt. But while James has admittedly only known Steve Rogers through the filter of an unforgiving media up until a month or so ago, and only through a couple of sex-staycations since then, he's never seen something like what happened at grace happen so quickly to Steve.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, as Steve is busy finishing the first part of his meal – neither of them are having seconds because neither of them wants to be stuffed to the gills later, when movement might be important.

Steve looks up and nods, dabs at his mouth with the napkin.

“Go ahead,” he says.

James tries not to squirm in his seat.

“And I wouldn't ask, except you said about asking if there's a problem?” he says, and Steve smiles gently.

“I did say that, because I meant it,” he says, and then he motions for James to continue. “By all means.”

James chews his lip for a second but they'll be here for hours if Steve is going to wait until he speaks before they clear away the dishes.

“That thing about grace,” James says eventually. “Does that happen often?”

Steve gives his rueful smile again, and part of James is astounded that such a sad, quiet smile is his only reaction. Isn't he angry? Doesn't it hurt? 

“Not any more,” Steve says. “Not since I got help. It only really happens the first time I hit something – first Christmas in this century, first meal I accidentally made for two, first time I asked somebody who wasn't there if they wanted coffee, first birthday, mine and others. I went through them and they were hard but I didn't realize there were any firsts left, to be perfectly frank. Still, there we are. I haven't felt something like that for a good nine or ten months. It doesn't happen often, and it's not your fault.”

James nods.

“Okay,” he says. “But I was only asking to try and not make it happen again. I don't care if it- No, well, I mean, I _care_ , but it's...don't think that I'm...like, I won't-”

“Thank you,” Steve says softly, and he reaches out and settles his hand over James' on the tabletop. “I'll bring it up with my therapist, but I appreciate your concern.” And then, after a couple of seconds, he lets go. “Have you had enough?”

James settles his cutlery on his plate and wipes his mouth with the napkin.

“For now,” he says, “but I'd probably happily eat that every meal for the rest of my life.”

Steve laughs a little, and then he stands up and starts to clear the plates away.

It doesn't take him long, and he declines James' offer to help because he's a guest, but James is beginning to fidget.

“All right,” Steve says, as he finishes loading the dishwasher, and he straightens to wipe his hands on a dishtowel. “How you feeling, physical activity wise?” 

James looks at him, accidentally looks at the mouth-watering shape of his dick in those pants, and then looks back at Steve's face to find his wry smile playing about his lips.

“Uh,” James says. “What are we planning on?” he asks, and Steve smiles.

“That depends,” he says. “You want the sex conversation before we have to go shower or after?”

James bites his lip and looks at Steve, and Steve smiles at him as though he already knows the answer.

“All right,” he says. “Go get cleaned up and I'll meet you back here. Wear your robe and your soft clothes, they're in the bathroom and second drawer down on the chest of draws respectively. And bring a towel.”

James nods, stands up, and Steve cups his elbow, draws him forward for a kiss.

“You won't need your underwear,” he says, and James knows he flushes bright red but he's halfway to hard anyway and his suit's only making that fact uncomfortable.

“God I'm so turned on,” James says against Steve's mouth, kind of only half meaning to say it out loud really, and Steve nods.

“Yeah, me too. Hop to it.”

And James goes.

***

He comes back to find Steve sitting at the table again, dressed and, were it not for the fact that he's shaved the little stubble James hadn't even noticed, James would think he'd never left. The smell of soap is stronger on him, though, and James realizes that Steve must have showered, too.

And like, he'd said “we” but James thought he'd meant it like a figure of speech. But here Steve is, sitting at the table in that gorgeous shirt and those gorgeous pants but he's not wearing the belt and James notices that because it was bright, but can't help thinking about it because the answer to the unasked question of why is probably _access_. 

“Did you bring a towel?” Steve asks, and James holds it up as he pads over, hands the towel to Steve. “Thank you.”

And then Steve indicates that James should sit down – which he does – before he stands up himself. James is on the verge of asking where he's going when Steve comes to stand behind him, the towel in his hands.

“Head back,” he says, and then Steve's squeezing the moisture out of the strands of James' hair, massaging his scalp in little circles intermittently. 

It kind of tilts James' whole world on its axis a bit – in a literal sense. He gets a little dizzy from being moved around, and it's nice (very nice) to be getting what's essentially a head massage, but it leaves James a little disoriented. He feels like he might just have stepped off a merry-go-round or maybe stood up too fast but, he has to admit, by the time Steve lifts the towel to check how he's doing, James' hair is pretty much dry.

“Y'alright?” Steve says. “Wasn't too rough?”

James shakes his head.

“Nah, I'm-” okay so shaking his head wasn't the best plan, “little dizzy, but-”

“Shit, kiddo, you okay?” Steve says, and his face is very close to James' face quite suddenly. “You gotta tell me if I-”

“I'm fine,” James tells him, and he laughs a little. “Honestly, I'm fine, like I just...you know. I like feeling that you're bigger than me, it's not a bad thing.”

Steve waits a few more seconds but evidently decides that this is a reasonable enough explanation, and so he stands up again, settles both hands on James' shoulders and, a moment later, James feels his mouth on the top of his head.

“All right,” Steve says, and then he goes to sit back down, passing James a hair elastic as he does. “Put your hair up in a bun.”

James does.

“Now,” Steve says, “we can do whatever you'd like to do. I don't mind. If you...I don't know, you had a lot of ideas, right? Like the...sharing a bed one.”

James nods.

“Well if you want to start there, we can start there, or if you want to just spend time together we can get undressed and cuddle....you know. Anything you want to do, we can do, but I'd like to discuss a few things first.”

James isn't surprised even though it's mildly frustrating. Steve has done this right from the start, and it's good practise, but James wants him _now_.

“First, I know you mentioned some things that you liked, but I think it's best that we start slowly. We'll need to discuss it before we do anything unusual but I do have preferences and there are some things I'll want you to be clear on, things I'll need you to give me clear consent for.”

James gulps kind of hard but it's not nerves this time – this time it's anticipation, and the unbridled desire to find out what Steve wants to do with him.

“We're not gonna do it all the time,” Steve continues, gentle but still clearly in charge, “I'm not expecting for us to need a full-on sex dungeon one hundred percent of the time in order for us to get off. But I wrote down and looked into some of the things you suggested – techniques and accessories and things like that. And I certainly think that the occasional foray into more interesting territory would be healthy and beneficial for both of us.”

“God, do you know how sexy it is when you talk about all of this stuff like it's nothing?” James asks.

Steve smiles a little, his expression calm.

“Yes, which is...probably about half of why I do it,” he says. “Now I don't know what kind of stance turns you on, what kind of position you'd like to take for various different things. I mean, do you want to stand or sit or kneel, et cetera, would you want me to stand behind you or in front of you or beside you, would you want me dressed or undressed, all of that.”

James just stares at him – is he meant to pick now? All of that sounds amazing.

“For now, I'm just gonna mess around with you, see what you feel like. That sound okay?”

“Sounds great,” James says, and Steve smiles.

“Can you tell me your safeword?”

“Eggs Benedict,” James says without a moment's hesitation.

“Do you have a go-phrase?”

“Charlie,” James says, and Steve thankfully doesn't ask him where it came from.

“Good, James,” Steve purrs, and it's sets something alight in James' chest. “I'm gonna wanna hear the full word whenever I ask for it, and I won't be continuing until I hear it. Do you understand me?” 

“Yeah,” James says. “Yes. What do I call you?”

Steve cocks his head.

“What would you like to call me?” he counters.

And James considers it. The Avengers belong to a group of people who automatically have two names and several different titles. Steve's a decorated veteran and a covert-ops specialist, so he has a lot more.

“I don't know,” James says. “I mean...”

Daddy doesn't work for James. He's tried it once or twice, even tried Momma with someone once, but he's from New York and he's fairly close to his parents, so those two are never going to say 'sexy' to him. And James has called people Sir and Ma'am before, but there's something different about Steve.

“Steve?” he says, and Steve nods, eyebrows up.

“Yeah, I think I might remember that,” Steve says, and James rolls his eyes despite himself. “So what do you say? Got anything in mind or do you want me to-”

“You,” James says immediately. 

He's got no idea how long this thing between them will last but he _loves_ being manhandled, and the longer he's got to sit and think, the more he wants a hand on his cock, something filling him up, someone stroking his skin with huge, warm hands.

“Alright,” Steve answers, and he stands up, goes around to James' side of the table and holds out a hand. “We're going into the bedroom. I'm gonna put a towel on the bed and get a few things ready then you're going to stand still while I strip you naked. I haven't decided what I'm doing first after that but I'll put you on the bed eventually.”

James' half hard cock perks up immediately – just hearing it out loud like that is such a heavy feeling in the middle of his stomach, such a shocking mix of surprise, embarrassment and outright _want_ that it leaves him a little weak in the knees.

“Jarvis, would you black out the floor, please?”

 _“Of course, Sir,”_ Jarvis answers, and Steve says a nonchalant,

“Thank you,” as he takes James' hand and leads him to the bedroom.

Every step winds James up a little more, makes him more aware of his own body. He doesn't need to look down to see the ridiculous shape his dick is making in his pants – he can feel it swaying from side to side with each step – plus, he's transfixed by the breadth of Steve's shoulders and the taper of his waist, and the musculature of his back visible through that gorgeous shirt.

Steve leads him in and then stands him at the end of the bed, maybe a foot away from the edge of the mattress, facing the headboard. 

“Stand still,” Steve tells him, and James does, James desperately wants to. 

“Are you gonna-” he says, but Steve is behind him in an instant, pressed up against him, one hand under James' jaw. He's not squeezing – in fact, all he's really done is lifted James' head, made sure he doesn't turn it, but his hand is huge and firm and broad under James' jaw, and it feels almost like a threat, except that it's a threat that sets James' heart racing, makes his pulse beat hard in his temples and his wrists and his thighs.

“Patience,” Steve says, drawing the word out where he's murmuring it against James' ear, and James shuts his eyes. “I'll get to you.”

James shivers because he can't not, and then Steve is gone again, and James can hear him moving, can hear things like wooden drawers and taps and clicks he doesn't recognize. In fact, he's wondering what on earth is going on when Steve walks past him, a large, fluffy towel in his hands. 

He holds the corners and shakes it out to put it across the bed and holy shit, the thing's huge. It's almost as wide as the bed and James doesn't doubt for a second that its intended purpose is exactly the one Steve's using it for now – there's no way it can be anything but.

What's more, when Steve walks back out of his field of view and comes back a second time, he's got handfuls of things that make James' ass clench just to look at them, cock jumping with the muscle spasm.

First is rope – it's black and soft. Second is something that's _definitely_ a ribbed plug (God he wants it – it's thin, really thin, probably meant to be used for beginners or warm-ups and he can feel the tightness in his thighs and his balls wind up a little) and then a small, white plastic thing that James thinks he knows. 

Finally, Steve sets lube and condoms down next to them.

James' ass and his cock both kind of ache in that familiar I-want-now kind of way, and he reminds himself to try and breathe steadily, to make sure he's listening – he doesn't wanna mess this up.

“What's your safeword?” Steve says from somewhere behind James.

“Eggs Benedict,” James answers. 

“What's your go-phrase?” he asks.

“Charlie.”

“I'm going to tell you what I plan to do, you tell me yes if yes please and no if no thank you. Yes?”

“Yes,” James says, and it comes out more of a breath than he means it to.

“Ready?” Steve says.

“Charlie,” James answers and, after a long few moments, something warm and blunt draws a line up the nape of his neck.

He realizes a moment later that it must be Steve's nose, because his lips follow a moment later, move all the way up behind his ear.

“Good,” Steve all but purrs, and James' knees go a little weaker, his eyes close, and Steve steps right up against his back, like he did when James walked in this evening. “Keep your arms down by your sides unless I indicate otherwise. Yes?”

James nods.

“Yes,” he says. 

“I'm going to undress you and I'm going to take my time about it. Yes?”

James manages to stop himself tipping his head back or readjusting himself in his sweats.

“Yes,” he rasps. 

“Good,” Steve says again, and then he's bringing one hand under James' arm to reach his stomach, the other curling around his shoulders to brace his forearm across James' chest as he starts kissing James' neck.

He curls his fingers just a little on James' stomach so that cool air begins to seep under the hem as it's tugged free of his waistband, and then Steve drags the fabric up James' chest, stopping between his collarbones so that his hand never touches skin, so that James' nipples are still covered by the fabric. The air in this room is only cool because of how hot James is running, but it's enough that he's almost chewing on his lower lip just waiting, his whole body wound tight.

He's got no idea what Steve plans to do next in terms of which item of clothes is going first, but he has to open his mouth to breathe a moment later, especially when the arm across his chest pulls him back so that almost his full weight is on Steve, just for a moment or two. James can feel Steve's pecs, can feel the line of Steve's dick against his ass, can feel how warm and how firm Steve's whole body is, and it feels like an eternity later that Steve bunches the fabric up in his fist, so that James still wears his tee but it may as well be pointless.

He feels somehow more exposed like this, with the shirt hem brushing the skin just above his nipples as they harden, drawing into a tight little points so quickly they almost sting. James' fingers flex but he doesn't move his arms, not even when Steve shoves the fabric under his forearm with his other hand, so that he doesn't have to hold it out of the way any more. James' whole body shudders when Steve rolls one nipple between his fingers, massaging it between his fingertips before he swirls them around the nipple instead, underneath James' pectoral and-

James doesn't mean to make a noise but it falls past his lips without his say-so, and he freezes – well, freezes as much as he's able to while Steve strokes his nipples. But Steve mouths at his throat, his shoulder.

“Be as loud as you want, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and James kind of groans in response.

James wonders sometimes how far he could go with just that by itself, how close he'd get if someone played with his nipples for long enough. He likes it – always has, but this is maddening. 

Steve's hand sweeps down over his skin, all the way down to push his waistband lower, but lower is as far as it goes. James doesn't realize he's holding his breath about it until he lets it all out in a noise of disappointment, and Steve chuckles against his skull, warm and low, sweeps his hand back up and then eases James forward.

“Arms up,” he says, and James does, barely shivers when Steve pulls the tee over his head – after that, he's got no idea what happens to it. “Back down,” Steve tells him, and James does it without thinking about it.

Presumably Steve has just chucked the shirt, but it's really not a concern right now because Steve's back a moment later, hands on James' waist, sliding them inward, upward to lean him backwards again. James can feel the individual buttons on Steve's shirt, can feel the crispness of the fabric, and he drops his head back onto Steve's shoulder as Steve squeezes his pecs, one in each of his hands – his hands are huge, and James feels tiny in comparison.

The next time one of Steve's hands dips lower, James holds his breath again, and he knows he's actually halfway to a whine when Steve doesn't do a damn thing about his dick – for a second time.

Steve's taking his sweet time about it, actually, being all slow and sensuous about it and part of James thinks it's the best thing ever, part of James loves the attention and the care but the _other_ part of James-

“Please,” he says, writhing just a little, “please, I haven't seen you in a week and I didn't even jerk off when we talked on the phone-”

“Did you want to?” Steve asks, like he's asking James the time. 

“ _God_ , yes,” James breathes, and Steve's huge, warm palms roam over his torso. “I mean can you at least- I know you're in charge, I know but can you please even just touch my dick-”

Steve holds him tighter, squeezes him just a little.

“Do you remember what I asked you in the coffee bar?”

“ 'How old is James?' ” James says, because he's a smartass.

“Is _that,_ ” Steve says, very clearly though his voice is still quiet, “your way of asking my permission?”

James' eyes close, his knees weaken, and he's pretty sure Steve's the only thing keeping him standing.

A moment later, both of Steve's hands come up to pinch his nipples – not hard, but enough. He doesn't let go, either, just stands there holding them. James is about to say something else when Steve's grip tightens, pinching, sending a sharp stab of pleasure-pain singing under his skin, and then again, and then again so that he's pulsing it, almost in time with James' heartbeat.

“Ah!” he gasps, “aha, ah, ow-”

“Is that-” Steve says, and James shakes his head as his fingers curl into fists.

“ Nono, no I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that's not- I shouldn't- Can you...” Steve's pinching stops, though he still doesn't let go, and James wets his lips. “Please, Steve, will you touch my dick?”

There's a long silence, during which James can mainly just hear his blood roaring in his ears. He doesn't hear himself breathing because he's holding his breath again.

“No,” Steve answers. 

James groans.

“Oh my God,” he mutters.

“Go phrase?” Steve says.

“Charlie!” James answers on a breath almost before Steve's finished speaking, and then Steve releases his nipples to slide both palms down over James' chest, his stomach, all the way down to his waistband and then-

And then Steve is pulling the waistband forward, stretching the fabric further than James thought it might go, and easing it over James' dick without touching it.

The air in here isn't cold, but it's cold on his dick by comparison, and goosebumps strike like lightning, radiating outward from his neglected cock, so that he shivers against Steve.

“Ankles apart,” Steve says, and James is so ready for whatever that could mean, complies immediately only to feel the fabric of his sweats slip down to pool at his feet. 

And that's all he's getting. He realizes, with a pang of disappointment, that Steve's got no intention of going any further right at that moment, and he realizes it because Steve lets go.

“Don't move,” Steve says, and he's really tall and really strong and even looking at the back of him fully dressed makes James blush.

He feels more naked just for the fact that Steve's still clothed than he did when Steve's hands were drawing patterns on his naked body. He thinks he might spontaneously combust.

Steve, in the meantime, has picked up the black rope and is starting to loop it around a couple of slats on the headboard. He makes two long loops that stretch maybe a quarter of the way down the bed.

“I thought you weren't going to restrain me,” James says, and Steve stops mid-movement.

“Perhaps I wasn't clear,” he says. “I said be as loud as you want, not ask as many questions as you please and sass me on the side for good measure. How about you stand still and don't use any more words until I tell you you can, hmm?”

James bites his lip because his not-answering is agreement in this case, so he stays silent.

When Steve is done making the loops, he turns around to look at James and kind of stops short again, but this time James can _see_ that it's because of him. Steve's gaze sweeps over him, comes back to his face, and then Steve quirks an eyebrow and picks up a condom from the bed.

He hands it to James.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Put it on.”

James takes it, opens it, and Steve says,

“And _only_ put it on.”

James does as he's told, and can't even give himself a couple jerks to relieve the pressure – Steve stares straight at him the whole time. There's something incredibly (so attractively) weird about it, about standing naked in front of a guy who's fully dressed and doing as he's told. He feels exposed and vulnerable and very _very_ aware of himself. 

He's so aware of his body he almost wants to hide – he can put his head up and his shoulders back but there's really no escaping the fact that he's naked and hard in front of Steve when Steve is literally telling him to do these things to himself. 

Kinda difficult to ignore your raging hard-on when Steve Rogers is telling you to look at it.

He hands the silver wrapper back to Steve, and Steve pockets it. Then Steve points at the bed.

“All fours,” he says, and James hesitates because every time his cock sways it gets harder and harder to not jerk it.

But he complies, because of course he does. That's the point – plus, he's not getting a damned thing until he does what he's told. He puts his hands on the mattress first, gets one leg up as he crawls forward and then his brain starts telling him about the kind of view Steve must be getting. Steve must be able to see everything, must be able to see his dick hanging heavy between his thighs, must be able to see his balls and the length of his perineum, must be able to see his hole without his even having to spread his cheeks.

His face is burning by the time he gets up onto Steve's bed and plants his hands and knees, and then somehow, because Steve is very tall and has abs of steel and seems to exist literally just to make James weak in the knees, he's somehow pressed almost full length against James, his hips and the hard length of his cock pressed to James' bare ass through the fabric, his shirt buttons scraping along James' spine, one of his massive hands coming down next to James' and, James thinks he might die, the cool, small, light tap of metal warmed to Steve's body temperature as his tags fall from his shirt onto the skin of James' back.

“I'm not using restraints,” Steve says, almost against James' ear. “But I thought you might like something to help you. You _will_ keep your arms above your head. Yes?”

James's ass clenches again, his cock jerking up by itself – to get his arms stretched out far enough to get his hands through the loops, he'll need to put basically his whole upper body down on the mattress. 

“Yes,” James answers on a groan.

He realizes how intentional the position must be when Steve pulls away from him, leaving him unfairly cold, and just watches while James reaches out for the makeshift handles, lowering his shoulders and raising his bare ass by default.

He feels like he's shaking, like maybe his insides are vibrating, and he knows there's nothing Steve isn't seeing. It makes him feel simultaneously overwhelmingly mortified and ridiculously sexy, and Steve walks past him with another condom in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other.

“Uh,” James says.

“They're not for you,” Steve tells him, sparing him a glance. It's said almost softly, too – not quite 'out of character' but enough that James doesn't need to think twice about settling. What did he even think Steve was going to do with a pair of scissors?

He flexes his fingers around the ropes he's been told to hold onto, and watches as Steve opens the condom and unrolls it, makes maybe two or three separate cuts and then puts the scissors down.

“You know,” he says, and then he disappears out of James' field of vision again, “I've been waiting for this.”

James waits, keeps still, and doesn't turn his head to watch whatever's going on, although he can hear Steve making small movements, doing little things where he can't see. It's a hell of a shock maybe five seconds later when Steve's fingers, wet and warmer than James would have expected once he realizes what's happening, rub up against his hole just the once, slick, and he jumps, everything clenching at once.

“Shhh, shh,” Steve tells him, and his voice...

His voice sounds wrong, or, sounds like it's from the wrong place-

“ _Oh,_ oh!” James doesn't even get warning but that's, oh wow, God, that's Steve's mouth- “uhuhn fuck-”

Oh my God, that's Steve _mouth_ , that's Steve's _tongue_ like through a condom though? James pulls on the ropes, flattens his chest to the bed and tilts his hips to open himself up as much as he can, yeah, yeah he _loves_ getting his ass eaten, and he moans as Steve's tongue pushes against his hole through the-

He must have made a dam.

“Uhn you're a fucking genius, ohh my God,” James tells him, and Steve laughs, low and slow and deep and all vibrate-y and James' toes curl. 

Holy shit, Steve even said he'd been waiting for this! Steve actually said he'd been waiting to do this to James, what is James' life right now?

“Oh, uh, yeah, please,” he says, and Steve, “how do you even get good at this, God, you're so good at this,” and Steve'll tell him if he doesn't want James to run his mouth so he keeps it up because fancy hotels are all well and good, and staff will look the other way if they're paid enough, but this floor is actually soundproof, literally nobody except Steve can hear James, no matter how much noise he makes, not while the floor's in blackout.

Steve's tongue is thick and firm and he's really talented, he's really good at this, James wants to tell him, wants to wax lyrical about it but finds he can only just about moan, try not to let his hips kick back against Steve's face.

 _I'm getting eaten out by the Original Captain America,_

“Steve, Steve,” he says, and then he finds that, once he starts, he really doesn't manage much else besides the litany of encouragement and Steve's name.

Steve's tongue draws circles over the furled skin through the latex sheet he's made, pushes forward again and again, and then Steve sucks once or twice – James' eyes roll back and he shoves his face into the towel over the bedclothes and makes as much noise as he damn well pleases, gripping the ropes white-knuckled to keep his hands where they're supposed to be.

His dick aches, he can feel it dripping, and he's never come just from a good rimming but, firstly, it gets him pretty fucking close and, secondly, this is closer to a spectacular rimming. James doesn't know how he does it, how Steve manages to intuit all the things James wants just when his body wants, but he does, he's amazing and it,

“feels so _good_ ,”

but he wants a hand on his dick, just to take the edge off, just to dull that knife's edge.

Steve doesn't give him that – instead, Steve uses something small and firm, must be his thumb, to pull down on James' perineum, right at the edge of his hole just to open him up a little more, just to get his tongue right in.

James half wonders if he can dip his hips enough to rub the head of his dick on the terrycloth, but he wants to be good, wants Steve to tell him what to do and not do anything until then.

“Please,” James says, but it's said into fabric the first time, so it's garbled until he turns his head. “Please, can you please touch my dick, will you just-”

“Nnn-nn,” Steve says, somehow while he's still got his tongue in James' ass for all intents and purposes, and James bites his lips, makes a noise that sounds kinda whiny to his own ears, and huffs, but it's short-lived, because he's making more noise into the mattress a moment later.

When Steve pulls back, he leaves the latex there, and it dampens the shock of cold air to the odd sensation of slowly-cooling latex instead.

“Presumably you can't come from this?” Steve says, and James groans.

“No,” he says, turning his head against the terrycloth a couple times to try and wipe away the sweat on his upper lip and brow where it's starting to itch, “but I really, really wish I could.”

Steve doesn't say much for a little while after that – doesn't have to, and James is grateful for the ropes to hold onto because he'd only twist up the towel otherwise, moaning into the mattress because the words are too hard to form.

He can barely breathe, When he's decided James has had enough, he pulls back and stands up and James misses the warmth and the pleasure instantly, desperately wants to just-

“Can I please just touch my-”

“You can,” Steve answers, walking into James' field of vision as he wipes over the lower half of his face with a damp washcloth. “Or you can wait until I decide it's the best time to do it for you. You won't get both. Do you understand?”

James turns his head back and groans into the mattress.

“Hey,” Steve says, and James looks at him as Steve crouches by the bed.

He wants a kiss – the tilt of his head and body are obvious about it – and James wouldn't turn him down even if they weren't practising a dynamic that ought to have him acquiescing. He doesn't have to crane his neck far – Steve leans in to meet him and the kiss is soft but brief and Steve tastes a little of latex, but James doesn't care about that. 

He cares when Steve stands up a moment later and walks off again, and then Steve says, 

“I'm gonna use the plug on you for a little bit. Charlie?” 

“Charlie,” James answers, chewing his lower lip and trying to look back at Steve. 

Is standing there, plug in one hand, and the thing's wet. It's like a popsicle or a- like a snowman that's got like seven different segments or something, like a tapered stick that's been periodically pinched on the way down and James clenches as he looks at it 'cause Steve's got the thing dripping and he knows it's going to feel _so good_.

“That's nice,” James says. “You gonna put it in me?”

Steve sets one hand on his hip, smearing lube on his nice shirt and apparently not caring at all.

“How would you feel about a ball gag?” he jokes, and James' stomach drops – he clenches so hard he feels the head of his dick tap the mattress.

There's no way Steve didn't see it either, 'cause James sees his gaze move to watch. He's pretty sure his blush is giving off its own light by now.

“That's interesting,” Steve says. “We'll talk about that. But right now I mean shush.”

“Sorry,” James says, breathless.

“Nah,” Steve says. “I love it really. Tilt that ass up.”

James actually feels the throb of his pulse in his dick then – Steve doesn't talk like that. He's got an older, calmer cadence about him usually but that, that was modern _and_ Brooklyn and James seriously hopes his body conveys how hungry he is for it.

“Ready?” Steve says.

“Please,” James answers, “please can you put it in me, I wanna feel it, it looks so _nice_ -”

It's _cold_ , is what it is, and James goes silent as soon as it touches him. That's all Steve does for a couple seconds – for like five or ten seconds – just presses the very tip against James' hole and waits. James tries to relax in case maybe that's what's Steve's doing, tries to push back against it and he clenches and clenches to try and literally get a grip on it and just-

He whines just a little, didn't realize he was holding his breath.

“Steve,” he says, and Steve increases the pressure just a little.

“Stay still,” he says, “relax, and let me do this _to_ you. If you can stay relaxed, this'll last longer and feel better.”

James chews his lip again.

“What if I can't?” he says.

“Then you can't,” Steve tells him. “But I want you to try for me.”

It's that bit that does it – that bit that makes up James' mind. _For me,_ Steve says, and oh James would do anything for him.

James has a semi-fun plug at home – he's not so big on dildos 'cause those I-lost-one-up-my-butt stories always freaked him the fuck out – and it's nice 'cause it's got little lines all the way around, some of which cross over, nicer still 'cause it buzzes just a little. But it's not very big and it's not very strong vibration-wise, and the ribs, those little molded lines, they're...

Well, they're disappointing.

But Steve starts a moment or so later, pushes forward just enough that James feels the transition of where the velvety texture changes from warm, where it's been pressed to furled skin, to cool where it hasn't, and he loves big ridges, he loves dimples, loves little raised nubs, loves the feeling of a nice, defined shape as it pops though the ring of muscle – head of somebody's dick, the final flare of a plug – that sweet, almost-sudden pleasure of each ridge as it enters him. The first – the littlest – bulb on Steve's toy isn't wide, is barely even the width of a finger, but James' whole body jolts as it slips in, and he can't help the semi-startled moan as his body closes on the cinch between it and the next.

Steve draws it out, nice and slowly, and that's almost as good – hell, James'll take it just to feel that first little bulb again – and it's just as good the second time, just that first little bulb and the sweet little pop as it slips inside. 

Steve does it again, does it _again_ and then,

“ _Ohn,”_ he gets the next one down this time, two instead of one.

Steve puts them in slow, takes them both out slow, but he puts them back faster, then pushes in further for the next one, and pleasure fizzles through him with each one.

He tries not to clench down on it, tries to stay relaxed, but it's not something he controls, the way he clenches around each one, so that each little bulb is a double shock of pleasure that make his lungs and his stomach feel shivery.

The next time, they're up to the wider bulbs and Steve's kind of prepped him with the rimjob but it's still a push, still a little bit of a stretch. He can picture the way his body must open up for it, picture the pressure and the width of it and then,

 _“Oh_ , fuck,” he whispers – pleasure flares white behind his eyes.

It's so weird that all his attention is focused on such a small part of himself, he thinks, weird that out of everything, the fact that he's naked and on all fours with his ass up and his head down, the fact that he's not only with Steve Rogers but that it's Steve Rogers doing this to him, the fact that he's here is second to the fact that it feels so good but he can't help it.

This time when Steve draws it back, he doesn't take it out – he just gets it almost all the way out, and then pushes it back. Each bulb makes James jolt, each one makes him want to push his hips down, but he doesn't -Steve told him not to. And the knowledge that he could, the knowledge that Steve has left him the ability to do it but has asked him not to, that's what does it for James. Steve trusts him to do as he's told and James is gonna make him proud, James is gonna make sure he doesn't regret it. 

He gets a couple more bulbs this time, groans into the mattress and tries not to follow the movement with his body but he wants to rock into it, wants to push back against it – the bulbs over his prostate are...

“Ohhgod, _Steve_ ,” he murmurs, and Steve keeps going, each one larger than the last, until James is feeling something larger than all of them – this is the last one, the biggest one, to keep it inside him. 

But Steve doesn't push it in. He pushes it against James – and it really is big compared to the others - but then draws the whole plug back and James' cock drools, he can feel it. This time, when Steve pushes it back, it's in one fluid movement, and James makes a weird kind of noise and it comes to rest inside of him barring that one last bulb.

Then Steve's doing it again and James' mouth is open, he's breathing so hard his tongue is dry, then Steve's doing it again, drawing it out and pushing it back nice and smooth and the bulbs are so nicely spaced, they feel so good and-

James hears the little click before he registers what it could be and, for a moment or two, nothing happens. But then there's something, then something more, then a buzz he can really feel and then holy _shit_ and then it's gone, the plug inside him but still again.

“What?” James says, but there it is again. 

Nothing, something, more and then, _oh_ -

God, vibrators with speed patterns are simultaneously the best and the worst.

This is possibly the worst (the best) of all of them, at least for teasing – it works up every few seconds from nothing to good, to better, to best for maybe a split second, and Steve starts to time every thrust with the vibration.

James makes a weird kind of moany-noise and he has to be careful 'cause he could definitely come from _this_ with no problem.

“Please,” he says, and he's breathless and he's not even pretending he's got the sass for this, “oh my god it feels so good-”

Steve's fingers are warm and thick and strong when they close over the head of James' dick, and he gasps, hips jerking of their own volition when Steve's thumb spreads precome over the head.

But that's all he gets on his dick, that's all Steve gives him. Presumably as compensation, Steve rubs his thumb over James' perineum instead, sandwiching his prostate between it and the buzzing plug, and James moans brokenly into the mattress for the two seconds of bright pleasure he gets out of it.

“Tell me when you're close,” Steve says, and his voice sounds a little rougher. 

“I'm already close,” James gasps, because he kind of is.

So, and James really ought to have anticipated this part, Steve stops – takes it away entirely and leaves him cold and empty and it's a cliché to say that he wants to be filled but it's true, he wants the friction and the solidness and the depth to scratch that itch, and it isn't fair, surely this is against the Geneva convention-

“That's not fair,” James says, “Steve that ain't fair, give it back,” he even pushes back in the hopes that Steve's got it right there behind him, but he doesn't-

God he must be making a picture, he can feel his body clench around nothing and Steve must be able to see that, must be able to see his own handiwork and watch James' body try to-

James pulls against the ropes so he doesn't reach down and jerk off, and he plants his face in the mattress again.

“Want this some more?” Steve asks, and it's a genuine question this time – he seems to have forgotten that he's meant to be in charge. 

“God it's good,” James tells him, “I need to get one, it's fucking amazing, I love the- the-” shit, what's the word? “Ridges. Bubbles.” Bulbs. “Bulbs.”

“Mmm,” Steve says, and then it's pushing into him again and Steve's fucking it into him and it's buzzing a couple times every second now, enough to wake his nerves up but not enough to satisfy them.

James kind of clenches with each one, still involuntarily – hey, you take a vibrator to his prostate and he can't be held accountable for what his ass does – but it's so good and he can feel himself kind of unwind even while his body's starting to work towards orgasm. He loves it – loves the way that one goal obliterates everything else.

“I wanna come,” he says, “can I please-”

“No,” Steve says. “Tell me when you think you're gonna.”

James groans and writhes about on the mattress but he keeps his ass up and his hands tangled in the ropes and pleasure pushes into him, along his dick and up his spine and deep inside and he smiles even though it's hard work to stay mainly still, even though he's gasping and he's sweating, and he revels in feeling good because somebody else is making him.

It only takes maybe thirty seconds of steady thrusting with the toy before James can feel it – he considers coming anyway, not telling Steve and to hell with the consequences. Except Steve's already implied there won't be a punishment or something for it, and besides, James _wants_ to do as he's told. 

“Oh, I'm,” he says, “God I don't wanna tell you but I am, I'm gonna-”

And again, Steve leaves him bereft. It's like a steam locomotive – none of that stamping on the brakes. James' whole body registers the loss and winds down in ways that make his ass ache and the head of his dick sting – he wants to come and it's not fair that he doesn't get to but he doesn't want to if he's not allowed and-

He startles when Steve gets up on the bed behind him and drapes himself over James' body, keeps still while Steve presses his clothed hips to James' lubed-up ass – he's gonna ruin those pants – and James can feel his dick through them, can feel the change in fabric where his waistband meets his shirt, can feel the buttons on his shirt and the somehow even sexier tiny body-warm rectangle of metal against the back of his neck from Steve's tags.

He thinks he feel Steve's nipples against his back, but that might be wishful thinking.

Steve puts enough weight on him that James knows Steve could crush him, enough that James feels the threat of just how big Steve is, but doesn't make it difficult for James to move or breathe. One of his huge, _huge_ hands – one of Steve's palms can almost cover James' face from his hairline to his chin, his hands can hold James around the waist and his fingers almost touch – one of his huge hands slides up James' extended forearm, wrist, back again, and his mouth is at the back of James' neck, his breath warm and coming heavy.

He doesn't say anything – James doesn't need him to say anything – and he slides himself back eventually, pressing a couple of kisses to James' back before he gets up.

“All right,” he says, clearly and carefully. “Turn over.”

James is so turned on he could cry (not really) or come in about ten seconds (definitely) but he does as he's told – in fact, it's more like _so_ he does as he's told. There's something flighty and jittery inside of him that knows he's naked and knows he can't hide a thing and _wants_ Steve to see it all.

Does it count as exhibitionism when it's only in front of one person? James wants Steve to do a lot to him – touch him and kiss him and fuck him and wash him and massage him and inspect every inch of him – he can't hide like this, and he _loves_ it, but it's a new kind of feeling.

He's always been confident, always known he looks good, but he gets halfway through turning onto his back, hands still in the ropes, when Steve turns him the rest of the way, hooks his hands under James' knees and lifts his legs as he slots himself between them and kisses James like he hasn't seen him in months.

James kisses back, fingers curling around the ropes, craning his neck as Steve presses James' dick against him with nothing but the strength in his hips.

When he pulls back and stands up again, though, Steve uses the grip on James' knees to spread his legs even as he bends them, so that James' knees are out either side of him, his feet about level with his ass. Steve holds them there with his hands until he can get one knee up onto the bed, pinning James' thigh aside with it, until he can get his other knee up and pin James' other thigh.

And then he lets go and James just stares up at him, mouth slack, arms over his head, legs pinned pretty much all the way open.

Steve can see everything and James' whole body is alight waiting for Steve to touch him.

Steve's so handsome, he's stupidly good-looking, and moreso now – his cheeks are flushed and his hairline's damp and his eyes are dark and his chest is heaving, and he looks down at James the same way the Chrysler building looks down at James - early twentieth century, stylish and gorgeous, and absolutely fucking huge.

“God, you better fuck me 'cause I don't make sense,” James says, which makes even less sense, but Steve shakes his head, wets those gorgeous lips, and reaches out.

When he brings his hand back, he's holding...

James was, it turns out, completely correct in his assumptions. That's exactly what he thought it was - the sex toy that's been on his wishlist for the past two years – and it's the latest model. Shaped like a bumpy thumb, except bigger, with two little curly pieces that serve first as handles and then secondary buzzy bits - this isn't just a plug, isn't just a vibrator, this is that high-end specialist male-g-spot massager that James has wanted for like ever, and the only time he takes one off his wishlist is when they bring a new one out.

He's seen videos on the internet of men who use these, videos of guys who can barely contain themselves, of guys whose muscles do things they're not in control of, who make noises and gasp and laugh while they cry but, not only has James always found it kind of difficult to justify spending money on the higher-end sex toys – does he need a ninety dollar vibrator when he can buy a sixteen dollar buzzy butt-plug? - but he also doesn't have the self control.

He tried a vibrating cock ring once and held onto his mattress with both hands while his hips jerked upward into empty air, but he only managed to come once before he was scrabbling to get it off because of the oversensitivity. He can't push himself while he's alone the way he knows Steve can when they're together.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, and he can't spread his legs any further but he arches his back and pushes his hips up as much as he can where they're pinned under Steve's knees so there's no chance Steve can misunderstand,“oh my God, yes, Charlie, please,” he has to swallow hard to keep going, “Steve, _please_ Steve, I always wanted to try it, God, I always wanted to know what it feels like,” and his mouth's running again but Steve looks like someone's just given him the best birthday present he's ever had.

“If you can't take any more,” Steve says, the almost-innocuous looking thing held steady in his left hand, dripping with lube (just like his _right_ hand), “you're gonna tell me to stop and tell me you mean it. If you can't get that out, safeword out. If you can't do any of that, let go of the ropes to bring your hands down and I'll stop. Got it?”

“Charlie,” James says. “Stop, I mean it. Eggs Benedict.” And then he lets go of the ropes and slides his hands over his thighs and over his stomach, jerks his cock once and rolls his shoulders.

Steve's demeanour changes instantly. He gets somehow bigger? Must have straightened his shoulders, tilts his head down and narrows his eyes.

Oh shit.

“Ah, oh, I forgot,” James says, “I didn't mean to-”

“That's all right,” Steve says, low and dangerous. “You're not in trouble. You just might need a little more help.”

He reaches out again, picks something else up that James hasn't seen and comes back with what looks like a black bolo tie made of silicone or something. It's an adjustable cock ring, and James swallows hard as Steve holds it up.

Steve raises an eyebrow and James nods quickly, 

“Yes, Steve,” he says, and Steve loops it over his dick _and_ his balls and tightens the toggle. 

Then he picks up the toy again.

“You make all the noise you want,” Steve says, “wriggle all you want, tell me whatever you want, call me names, beg me, I don't care, you know the rules. If you don't stop me proper, then we stop when I say so.”

His throat hurts when he answers, he's so worked up, he wants this so badly.

“Yes, _yes_ Steve!” and then Steve's putting it in him and it's already on and- “ _Oh_! Ohh-oh- Ye- _Yes_ , oh,” how do people even design toys to do this, make them fit so perfectly and hit the right spot and-

That's a lot of sensation, it's a _lot_ of pleasure and it's faster than he thought it would be, he's almost ready to come just from that but he-

Oh God, wow, 

“I'm gonna come, can I please come, Steve, please-”

“Come whenever you want, sweetheart, but try and hold it, all right? Don't hold it off but try and hold it-”

James grits his teeth, sees the afterimage of the room and Steve as he squeezes his eyes shut but it doesn't stop it – it's coming like a freight train and there's nothing he can do about it.

“ _Oh my God!_ ” he whines, and then his stomach crunches up and his legs jerk up against Steve's knees and his thighs tighten up and he's coming, and coming, and it tingles all the way from his ass to the tip of his dick and he pulls against the ropes without meaning to – they go taut with a small thunk – and he's still coming? How is this happening? “It's...” he almost swallows his tongue. “It's so....yeah- _fuck_...”

His stomach keeps crunching and the orgasm tapers off but it leaves him tingly and shivery and he opens his eyes and looks down past his own heaving chest to his stomach where his cock is lying, leaking, against his akin. But there's no come on him, none on Steve. That was definitely an orgasm, and he's still feeling the aftershocks but...

Oh wow.

“That was fuckin' fast,” he says, and Steve chuckles, looks down at him and waits, and James lies where he is, trying to get his breath back.

The toy's still going, still feels good, and it's not until the third little spike of pleasure that he realizes they're not aftershocks – his body's starting over.

“Seriously?” he says, breath hitching, and Steve just looks down at him with dark eyes and unwavering concentration. “Steve, Steve, seriously, oh...Wait, I...Oh my god it's too soon, I can't,” except he doesn't have a choice, “Steve, I _can't!_ ”

“You're doing real good,” Steve tells him, and James' mouth drops open, he suddenly can't think of a thing to say and, as soon as James' brain stutters over Steve's voice, Steve's dark-eyed masterful expression changes slightly, eyebrows higher, lips parting on a soft breath. 

James doesn't know what's changed but he shakes his head, wants to squeeze his eyes shut but can't take his eyes off Steve.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “fuck, oh fuck, oh yeah, yeah,” it's nonsense, a stream of words that don't make a difference, but it feels-

It's better than good but James can't think of a damned thing and he looks at Steve and the hungry expression on his face and the breadth of his shoulders and-

“I'm,” he groans. 

“You're fine,” Steve says but he's not, oh he's not, but he _is_ and wow,

“ _Oh God_ I'm-”

And then he is, he's coming so hard he can't get a breath in for a good few seconds, and then he gets one only to lose it to a cry a second later, thighs quaking, stomach crunching-

He doesn't think he can manage this again by himself, he realizes – can't keep his body on track without help and his hips snap up once, twice, don't move 'cause he's splayed and pinned by Steve but, they try.

“Oh my God,” James says, 'cause the toy is still going and he's already winding up again. “Oh my God, Steve...”

Steve just watches.

“My hands,” he says, and Steve frowns, tilts his head, he thinks James might be trying to tap out but James is begging for help, “pin my hands, I need you to, I can't keep them up, I-”

Steve's hands move – he doesn't need to hold the toy in place at all, it does it by itself – and he grabs at James' wrists, one in each huge hand just as James starts to let go of the ropes – it's like he's not in control of them but he doesn't want to move them, doesn't want to bring them down and stop this now, and he needs something to fight against or his body's going to shake apart.

“Oh my _God!”_

This time, it's more – more of everything, is this a new orgasm or was the other one not over? Except, James realizes, this isn't it, this isn't even the orgasm, this is maybe the start or a warning but oh God, his body's still climbing!

His hand spasm and his spine tries to make weird shapes and his hips try to jerk up and his legs try to kick out but Steve just keeps him pinned with his knees, one hand pressing the toy in and up, the other on James' knee and James' whole lower body jerks upward, he can feel his dick and his balls bounce with the movement but he doesn't care-

This one starts at his prostate and zips straight up his spine and he sounds to his own ears like he's choking when he speaks,

“Steve, God, _ughn_ ,” and he's coming again, just like that, like a tidal wave, like a runaway train.

His thighs do this weird thing and his toes scrunch, hell, his feet scrunch, and he's got no idea what his face must look like but he-

Steve kisses him and he keens into Steve's mouth, all the energy running out of him. His stomach's starting to ache from being crunched up, his toes feel kind of fizzy and he knows he'll lose the feeling in his hands but Steve's leaning over him, pinning James' thighs with his knees, James' wrists with his hands, they're almost face to face, and Steve stares down at him.

“I can't,” James tells him, face screwing up, but he can because Steve will make him, he can say what he wants because Steve won't take this away early, “Steve I can't, you have to let me go, please, please don't, please, Steve, I'm- It's- I'm gonna come, Steve, I'm gonna come,”

“You can come all you want,” Steve murmurs, his voice low and rough, and James manages to say,

“I can't!” another time, but it's half lost in all that groaning through his gritted teeth as his body starts to lock up again.

“God you're so good,” Steve says, and James shakes his head, pulls against the immovable grip of Steve's hands, tries to close his legs against the onslaught of pleasure and the immovable weight of Steve's legs and can't do anything about any of it.

This time, he makes a weird kind of moany-noise that's one hell of a lot louder than it would be if he'd thought about it, and then it happens again on his next breath, and his whole body feels like it's coming.

It lasts and lasts, a rolling boil in his blood, and his eyes roll back, his head pushes back into the mattress as his spine bows and his mouth is open but he's not making any noise and-

He makes a noise, another noise, and then he realizes that he's not coming down from this one, it's not slowing down at all, 

“Ste-” but it's on the breath in and he can't speak, he can't move, he can't make it stop and there's part of him that's terrified even though he knows whose hands he's in, part of him that panics even as another part wants that.

his eyes rolls back and his body's trying to stitch itself up into a tight little ball while it's trying to go boneless with pleasure-

He hears himself sob, hot tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, and half of him's mortified but the other half is just so grateful to have someone who won't ridicule him for it, someone who'll see that he's all right and trusts him to say when he isn't.

James' ears ring, his eyes and aching and his throat hurts and it's not, how does, his body isn't-

“Steve,” he sobs, and he doesn't even want to cry: His eyes and lungs are doing it without him – James would be laughing if he could.

His body pulls and pulls and pushes and pushes but the pleasure's chasing every attempt he makes to get away, a maddening aggravation of nerves already stripped raw.

“Please,” James gasps, as Steve gathers James' wrists in one palm and reaches down to fumble with the toggle on the cock ring, “I can't, Steve, I can't, no,” but he can, he wants to so bad, Steve knows that, Steve won't take it away from him – it feels like he's on fire, like he must be shaking his own skin off his bones, it feels like it ought to feel terrible but it _doesn't_.

James is burning alive and he's begging Steve to let it happen, and it's like James' whole world converges on a single point of light and then explodes outward and takes all of his resolve with it. He hears the noise he makes and hell, it's _loud_ , and it lasts and James isn't in control of his limbs any more, ass clenching and unclenching around the unyielding toy, pulsing against his prostate with every one, dick leaping against his stomach, splattering his chest, his chin- 

It won't stop, it's not going to stop, and it takes him a few seconds but he's reached his limit, and he waits until he can get a lungful of air to groan,

“ _I...mean it!_ ”

And it's like he's been dropped into a black hole.

There's no buzzing, no onslaught, no pressure, no pleasure, no squeezing in his lungs or burning in his eyes, and he feels the second the toy slips free, but really not much else besides that.

“Wow,” somebody says, and James is surprised to realize that it's not him.

It couldn't be him, he's too busy trying to relearn how to breathe.

“You all right?” Steve says, and James' eyes are half open and Steve's ceiling is very nice and then, oh there's Steve!

“Hi,” James says, voice rough and Steve's face, over him, floating above him, tilts – Steve smiles.

“Hi,” he says, and his voice is low and warm like a blanket.

“Oh my God,” James says, and Steve's fingers are doing things to him – thumb swiping over James' chin once or twice, backs of his fingers brushing stray strands of hair out of James' face.

James isn't sure how their bodies are until his lifts his head and looks down the length of himself, and he almost laughs.

Steve is sort of...not quite on all fours but over James nonetheless, legs very much not on James' legs, arms very much nowhere on James, either to give him space or just to not weigh him down, but James has never seen him look so awkward, and he snorts.

Steve looks down the length of them, too, and then back at James, one eyebrow raised.

And James chuckles, can't help it. And then, then James is laughing, covering his mouth with one kind-of-weak hand.

“Oh my God,” he says, and Steve smiles down at him, beatific in the evening sunshine, delighted at the way James' whole body is completely useless. 

James can't help it, can't help giggling – he actually did it! They actually did this and it was so... _so_ much more than what he'd anticipated. Now, now it's done, he's fine. He's not floating on a cloud of dreamy confusion, not about to have a mental breakdown. 

He feels really amazing, but absolutely exhausted, and Steve leans down and kisses him, sweet and soft and slow. James sort of flaps a hand at him to bring him closer, and Steve lowers himself a little – still doesn't put all his weight on James, but gets close enough that James is warmed by his body heat, that James can feel the fabric of Steve's clothes all the way from his inner thighs to his chest. 

And, he notes, as Steve takes the time to kiss him thoroughly enough that it makes James' head spin, that's not all of Steve's he can feel.

“Mmh, Steve,” he says, pretty much into Steve's mouth, “Steve,” and when Steve pulls away to look down at him, James tries to start on Steve's fly. 

His hands aren't behaving so all he really does is paw at the closures, but Steve gives him a look that says, 'what are you doing?' even though it also clearly says 'yes please,' and helps.

“On me,” James says, out of impulse. “Come on, you can-”

“James,” Steve says, through gritted teeth with a rising inflection like a warning almost, and he stops what he's doing for a moment, but James does more hand-waving, even as he tries to press his body up against Steve, even as Steve's kissing him again.

“Come on,” James says again, the words garbled against Steve's lips, “come on, you can do it, get it on me,” and Steve groans like it hurts him to hear.

“James,” he says again.

James has no idea what he looks like any more, face burning from all that blood pressure, but he's betting it looks good if the way Steve's looking at him is any indication. He still looks unconvinced, still looks hesitant, so James rolls his aching hips and spreads his aching legs and arches his tired back and slides his arms out across the bed and-

“I want it,” James says, “get it all over me,” and then Steve groans and gives in, kissing him and tugging that pretty dick out of his pants as James watches him, pushing himself upright as James smirks, and he's so tall, he's so big, he cuts such a powerful figure, it's impossible not to find him attractive.

He kneels up over one of James' legs, mouth dropping open as he closes one huge fist around his dick, and James can only reach Steve's leg from here, so he curls his fingers around the back of Steve's knee while Steve stares down at him with his lips parted just a little and his hand on his own dick.

“Look at you,” he says, but he says it on a breath, like a whisper, half like he's saying it to himself.

James tips his head back, makes himself a blank canvas and he can't help the moan he gives when Steve's expression turns pained.

“Yeah,” James says, “yeah, I want it, I _want it_ ,” and Steve's eyebrows draw together, his mouth drops open, and he stares right down at James as he says,

“Oh, _oh_ ,” and spatters James' stomach with it, ducking his head a moment later without slowing down at all. He holds his breath for a second and then says, “Oh,” again, and then he's tightening his fingers and gritting his teeth as he blows a breath out through pursed lips.

He does it again once or twice, and then his whole body sags, shoulders dropping as he wets his lips and tilts his head back, chest heaving. After a couple of seconds, he slumps a little more, presses his other hand to the bed and squints through one eye, the other closed, as though the whole room's too bright for him.

“Wow, okay,” he says.

James laughs, and then Steve is looking at him with an apologetic smile on his face, but James just shakes his head, laughing harder.

Steve sort of comes to rest half-sitting between James' legs, fully dressed aside from his dick, right there. 

“You okay?” Steve says, and James nods. 

His nose is a little stuffy and his lashes are damp, but he's happy.

“Yeah,” he says, and he doesn't care at all that he's smiling like an idiot. 

“Damn, I made a mess of you,” Steve says, but he doesn't sound sorry about it, and James isn't sorry about it either. “I'm gonna grab a cloth and a towel, clean you up some. A'right?”

James nods, wets his lips and stretches his limbs as Steve stands, watches Steve tuck himself back into his pants. There's lube all over him.

“Yeah,” James says, grinning.

He curls himself up a little, rolls onto his side to watch Steve walk to the en suite, and Steve turns back when he gets there.

“You sure you feel okay?”

James raises his eyebrows and laughs.

“You're kidding, right? That was amazing.”

Steve smiles, a warm, secretive little thing that makes his eyes sparkle.

“Good,” he says. 

Once he's in the en suite, James rolls onto his back again and stares at the ceiling. He hasn't found the bug in his code, he hasn't told his parents he's dating someone, and he certainly hasn't mentioned the age gap. 

At this point though, none of it matters. 

He feels pretty good actually.

When Steve comes back, it's with the aforementioned cloth and towel, and he's soaked the cloth in warm water so that, when he strokes James' whole body clean, it feels really, really good.

He gets undressed after that, too, waves James off when James sees that he's half hard again.

“Don't worry about it,” he says, and he helps James get onto his feet so that he can turn the bed down and they can get in.

Once Steve's pulling the crisp, cool covers up over them, James snuggles down.

“I mean, maybe you can't fuck me right now but you could try that toy thing,” and the thought of wrecking Steve with it the way Steve's wrecked him is not an unappealing thought. “It was amazing.”

“Well I'm glad you enjoyed them but," Steve says, looking confused, “these particular ones are yours. I mean, they'll probably live here with me but once you've got favourites, we'll get duplicates. You'll have some here and some at my place in Brooklyn and maybe...” he punctuates this last with a kiss to the tip of James' nose, “...if you're good, one to keep at home, too.”

James just smiles at him, hazy and halfway into sleep already.

“Hmmm,” he says.

_Some at my place in Brooklyn._

Steve laughs softly, snuggles down too and pulls James a little closer, and that's the last thing that James really thinks about for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> If only dry orgasms were that easy for guys. I'm gonna pretend James' being younger is a major factor.
> 
>  **Spoiler alert:** If you'd like to know the dates in this series, here's [a link to a timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/aac4be76b217f7b6ea54592e0a76d168/tumblr_inline_pg5mcewTA21rckout_500.png) of the first ten parts, with a short summary of each part. **Spoilers for parts 1-10, though.**


End file.
